


Sustenance

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [20]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-05-01
Updated: 2004-05-01
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1793593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What price sustenance?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sustenance

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For Alex, my friend and beta.

Ian and Quinn walked into the student center at 2:30 pm on a Thursday in early May. They'd agreed to meet for lunch after fourth period in hopes of avoiding the usual crowds.

Ian smiled at Quinn indulgently, offering him a treat. "What'll it be today, Professor? California burgers at Rissian's?" 

Quinn returned the smile, careful to tone it down for public consumption. "How about Oppo's instead? They have a new mixed vegetable pizza." He spoke with authority; after all, Quinn knew himself to be the world's foremost expert on Ian's tastes.

Sure enough, Ian answered, "Sounds delicious. Let's go."

The men headed over to Oppo's, eager to try the new pizza. There was a line even at this hour, but of five people only. Their orders were identical: veggie pizza and cappuccinos.

Quinn got out his wallet; his first instinct was always to pay for them both, even as his innate caution told him it was a bad idea, especially on campus, with students serving them.

As usual, Ian had anticipated Quinn's reflexive response, and had sidestepped it by paying his portion of the bill with a smile, then waiting for Quinn to do the same.

They took one of the smaller, unpopular tables in an untenanted corner. Many students used the food court as an informal study area, and needed the big tables for their books, laptops, and papers. 

Since Ian and Quinn most commonly worked in their office or in the manuscript section of the library, they didn't need the student center for this purpose, and could concentrate on the pleasure of conversation with their meal.

Quinn counted the two piles of change on their trays. It had happened again: the men had bought exactly the same things, but had been charged differently: $ 5.50 for Ian, $ 5.89 for himself.

Ian grinned. "Looking like a student has its benefits, now, doesn't it?"

"They've never forgiven me the tax," said Quinn grumpily. "Four years ago, I was almost your age."

"Your countenance is always so serious on campus, Quinn. Even when you were a student, you probably seemed older."

Quinn had a quick vision of himself as an undergrad, and was forced to admit that this was true. Even then, he'd rarely worn blue jeans or sweats, the unofficial uniform of his peers, preferring instead the casual professional look of shirt and slacks.

Quinn wore jeans on weekends now, though. Ian had succeeded in loosening him up to some degree. Quinn would always remember the look on Ian's face when he'd first seen Quinn in Levi's. After becoming accustomed to the endless acres of fabric hiding Quinn's hips and thighs, Ian had found taut denim revelatory over the lean length of his lover. Indeed, they hadn't made it out the door for their intended walk that first time.

Just the memory of that interlude was enough to bring heat to Quinn's face, and he quickly answered Ian's comment. "You're right, Ian. Sometimes I feel like I'm 60 in a body half that age."

Ian couldn't respond to that remark the way he would have liked to, had they been at home, and instead said mildly, "At least you only pay a seven percent penalty for it," alluding to the state sales tax, charged to faculty, not students.

Despite his displeasure over the reminder of the age difference between himself and Ian, which he usually regarded as negligible, Quinn settled in to enjoy his pizza. Thank goodness the student center had an Italian eatery; this had been his favorite cuisine since boyhood, and he'd discovered in Windover that it was Ian's as well.

Quinn and Ian concentrated on food and drink then, knowing that they both had sixth period classes that day, and had to return to their office beforehand for lecture notes. The food court continued to empty out around them as they sipped at their froth.

The university was naturally a hectic environment; their lunches and the brief moments they shared behind the locked office door were oases of serenity in a chaotic world. They touched each other then, without the need for physical contact, absorbing energy and drive to last the day through. 

Just now, Ian's grin as he related his adventures in teaching that day nourished Quinn as thoroughly as the food he was enjoying. Ian had a gift for making the most mundane occurrences entertaining, wry humor sparkling in his eyes.

An interruption in the form of a student came by their table. Ian recognized him as a pupil in his Intro Lit course. Summoning a friendly smile, Ian said, "Hello, what can I do for you?"

"Hi, Professor. I'd like to talk to you about my research paper. You gave me a C, but I worked hard on it for over a month."

"Bring it to my office 3rd period tomorrow, okay? I'll go over it with you then."

Recognizing the polite dismissal, the boy left with a quiet 'thank you'.

Quinn said, "Ever the diplomat, Ian. Good luck!" 

Carrying the leftovers, the men walked back to their office along sidewalks lined with trees, the academic buildings shading them in dignified grace. May had dusted blossoms on branches and scattered them over their path.

After class, they drove home and heated up the leftover pizza, which went well with a discussion of Quinn's latest run-in with the Council over E.M. Forster in his upcoming Early 20th Century British Novels course. To Quinn's ear, Ian sounded just like Case sometimes.

"Maurice is ordinarily reserved for reading lists, and not considered a principal text for discussion in class." Ian sat back in his chair, eager for Quinn's answer.

"So you think one of the usual favorites, A Passage to India or A Room with a View, should be used in the course?" 

Ian said, "Either one, or perhaps The Longest Journey."

"All of those are fine choices, but this is a senior level seminar. Everyone in that class should have read them by now."

"True, but your lectures always provide unique insights."

"Thanks, though Maurice will be unfamiliar to most of the students, so it's an opportunity to introduce them to something new. Also, I'm covering Lady Chatterley's Lover as well, and the similarities between the two books should be explored."

"Well, it's your choice." Ian tried not to give in to his nascent pout. He didn't like to manipulate Quinn that way.

Quinn reached out to tease Ian's cheekbone with his forefinger. "What's this really about, lad? This isn't simply a curriculum issue."

Ian basked in the warmth of Quinn's finger on his cheek. He was still a bit uncomfortable, but he knew Quinn had never judged him before, and wouldn't start now. "I've never taught a novel with gay themes before..." He trailed off to a stop, diffidence overtaking him.

"You're afraid that my choice of book might give the Council ideas about me, eh?"

Ian nodded, too embarrassed to speak. 

Quinn took Ian's hand from the table and held it for a moment. "Well, wouldn't Chatterley give them the opposite impression, then?" He'd said this specifically to put a smile on Ian's face, and was gratified to see that it worked. "Seriously, lad, I've found that the best thing to do is to construct a syllabus with an eye to quality, and disregard anything else."

Ian privately reflected that Quinn's position was made easier by tenure, a security that wouldn't be his for at least three years. Despite Ian's innate conservatism, he admired Quinn: his ability to take risks without worry, his polite defiance in service to his vision. What would Ian himself be like when he was a senior faculty member? Would the next few years bring him Quinn's serenity?

"Good advice," said Ian aloud, relieved to see the crinkles around Quinn's eyes deepen at his tone. Telltale grooves above his nose betrayed Ian's continuing tension, however. "Forster himself didn't feel free to publish Maurice during his lifetime."

"He lived in a different world, love. Things have gotten better."

"Sure, there's less institutionalized bigotry, less open hostility. But you can't even tell your family about us." Ian closed his eyes, appalled at himself. He hadn't intended to make that last statement. As a rule, they avoided talking about Quinn's relatives as much as possible.

"What good would it do, Ian? They would lose a son, a cousin, a nephew...over nothing more than a difference in specific values." 

"I'm sorry. You're right." Ian unconsciously touched his ring. "It's just that even though this has been the best year of my life, I always seem to have this low-grade worry that I've never had before."

"I feel it too, lad. There were certain benefits to being single. But what we have now is worth any price to me. And if that price is a polite fiction, I'll willingly pay it."

"Me too, but you're shouldering most of the bill." Ian ran his fingertips over Quinn's chin.

"A difference in upbringing," Quinn said, delighting in the caress. "Besides, scouring the apartment before Aunt Beryl's visits leaves the place spotless." Quinn's protectiveness had him trying to lighten the mood again.

Ian smiled, just as Quinn had intended, and they turned to the pizza once more, discussion deferred in favor of more immediate sustenance.


End file.
